


mouth full of shards

by Myrime



Series: let us rise again [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Arguing, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Steve Rogers, Sokovia Accords, Steve Feels, Team Returns, Tony Feels, Tony Leaves Avengers, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “Give me one good reason why I should stay,” Tony demands, tone not as harsh as he feels would be appropriate. This is a new thing they are trying, giving reasons, explaining their thought process. It is ridiculous how few opportunities that leaves for them to shout at each other.He almost wishes Steve has an answer because, for once, the futurist hopes that things could stay as they are: he and Steve, the quiet compound; no heroes, no world in danger, just men.He has long ago given up on dreams.- Tony leaves the Avengers. This decision has been a long time coming.





	mouth full of shards

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, all of you who commented on the first two parts of this series. (If you haven't read them, you might want to look at least at the first one, to fill some of the blanks for this, although I guess it is not absolutely necessary.)  
> In this part, the team comes back. They argue, they heal a little. But some endings cannot be avoided.

Without Steve, Wakanda feels a lot less safe. The team – what is left of them – meets in the common room in the morning. Their minds are still on the videos Stark sent, on the impossibility of his death, this man who seemed larger than life, who has been their friend and lately something like their enemy. Finding that their leader is gone makes it all the harder. They are lost, even – or maybe especially – with each other, but still they come together because that is the only thing they have left.

Finding out days later that Stark is not dead after all is, in comparison, much less surprising and they greet the news with bickering but also relief. The last person to see Stark alive, if the news were true, was Steve, and that holds more implications than any of them really want to think about. But if the videos were sent by mistake, if he really is alive – there might be hope for them yet. Not that any of them would voice that thought.

Wanda scoffs in disgust before disappearing back to her room. Clint is all sarcasm and insults, muttering about how there is ‘no getting away from this pain’. Sam is relieved that he did not send Stark off into his death by telling him were Steve and Bucky went. And Scott is still the odd man out.

It had been nearly overwhelming to be asked to stand at Captain America’s side, to meet these people everyone talked about but that no one could touch. Things had happened so quickly, so viciously; he had barely known where to look. How did these people remember who was on their side now when only a few days back they had all been on the same? Then the Raft. Then the flight. And now exile.

Things have not turned out as he had expected them to. True, he often jumped headfirst into situations he had no idea about, but he had wanted this to be different.

He does not quite fit in here with these people, and it is not for their one-time status as heroes. But there is no conversation to be had without anyone touching any sore points And with Steve gone, they all look lost.

Maybe this is why his wife always looked at him with pity. Like him, they have thrown themselves into something much bigger than them, with barely any hesitation and no way out, and now that they have landed they are looking back and wonder how things could spin this far out of control, while they did not see it coming.

They are not even much of a team now, without an enemy to fight. They wander around aimlessly, they train, they wait – for news or orders, for a reason to gear up and pretend to be something they are not.

“Where is Steve?” Scott asks when the silence becomes too much to bear. All he knows is that Captain America defied his country for the man lying on ice down in the lab and that he has disappeared without a word. _Again_ , if the somewhat annoyed expressions on his companions’ faces are anything to go by.

“Making this right,” Sam says. He is not so sure about this, mostly because things have escalated so far so quickly that ‘right’ seems out of their reach at the moment. But he believes in Steve and, more so, in his stubbornness. If anyone could sort out this mess it would be him.

“And what does that mean?” Scott only says what they are all thinking, but it earns him a couple annoyed glares anyway.

“I guess that means,” Clint says, brow furrowed and voice heavy, “we’re going home.”

Home is a curious concept. It is a farm; a bombed out city and a dead brother; a daughter – succinctly put: family. Once they might have thought they could be that for each other, too, but looking at them now, the very notion is ridiculous. Scott is lost among them – only here because they were in need of manpower – and thoroughly out of his league, since becoming an international fugitive was surely not on the list of things he expected or hoped to come of this.

Clint and Natasha had been family, but she is gone while he dreams of simpler days and tries to take care of Wanda, who does not want to be taken care of, since she has been running on thoughts of vengeance for so long that she can hardly be expected to snap out of it at the first suggestion of someone wanting to help. And Sam has mostly only been Steve’s friend and recent events have completely uprooted him.

So, if Clint says ‘going home’ they cannot help but wonder where that is.

* * *

Tony decides to move out of the compound once – after a myriad of meetings and compromises, after putting himself on the line for people who do not believe in him anymore – it becomes clear that the rest of his former team will come back. His ghosts can haunt the tower as easily as the compound. Staying, however, would mean to meet them in the flesh again. He does not think of himself as a coward for wanting to avoid that, has even slept better since coming to the inevitable conclusion that they are done.

He does not mean to blurt it out while they are in the middle of breakfast, but they have slipped into a routine of comfortable silences and speaking their mind. An hour can pass without either of them saying a word, then Steve might comment on an article he had read the day before or Tony would remember a museum he visited years ago that he thought Steve would enjoy. Steve has made it an unspoken rule that meal times are reserved for topics that have nothing to do with their situation or their jobs, for he has found out quickly that Tony tends to run away from that when things get too much. And Tony, for the sake of keeping the peace – and because Steve’s cooking is not too bad – lets him.

So he winces when, in between of two bites of pancakes, he says, “I’ll miss your food when I’m back in the tower.”

Steve simply stares at him, expression somewhere between shocked and disappointed, and it has Tony scrambling for words.

“I will leave,” he says, because that is the most important thing, “but only sometime next week. Gives us enough time to plan for the return of the others.” He barely uses a name for them, Avengers or any other, but he does not have to. It is only ever _them_ versus _him_ , anymore.

“You can’t,” Steve says, and is that not exactly the wrong word to use with Tony? _Can’t_. He has never dealt in impossibilities. If someone tells him a thing cannot be done, he does everything to prove them wrong. More so if someone thinks that Tony specifically cannot do it.

So, when Steve tells him he _cannot_ go, Tony already has orders for FRIDAY on his lips to organize the moving of the workshop and does his best to ignore the roaring in his ears that comes with the mere thought of opposing Captain America these days.

Then Steve goes and makes it worse. “Please,” he adds in that comically small voice of his that he has started to use whenever they are crumbling again.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay,” Tony demands, tone not as harsh as he feels would be appropriate. This is a new thing they are trying, giving reasons, explaining their thought process. It is ridiculous how few opportunities that leaves for them to shout at each other.

“They are -”

“Whatever you do, don’t say family.” The syllables of that word feel ugly and sharp in his mouth, something to be spat out and stomped on. Something best forgotten. “And don’t say they’re my team, either. Because they’re not. They’re yours.” Tony grimaces, teeth bared and all but snarling. “My part of the team, they’re scattered all over. Going to school, prowling hospital floors, watching the world run by from a wheelchair. And if you were audacious enough to count Romanoff, well, she’s disappeared completely. So, there’s only me left, and even that is debatable because I still plan on retiring. Why on earth would I stay?”

In the silence that falls, Steve watches him, a certain air of sadness around him like he has no argument against Tony’s logic. Which is only wishful thinking on Tony’s part, because Steve is never without argument.

“You stayed here with me,” he says.

Tony thinks that is totally not the point, because Steve has not left him much choice with that, crowding him when he could not actually flee because he was still missing – presumed dead – and had too many things to do to care about his houseguest. He thinks that Steve has done his best to play nice because Tony is perhaps his best shot at getting his team back to America, and they both know that Tony works better when thinking he has a choice even though he has not.

“And once they’re back, you won’t need me anymore.” There is finality is Tony’s voice, but no satisfaction. He does not actually want to go back to being lonely, even though staying here, where he will never quite feel safe, will never quite be a part of something bigger than him again, is not a feasible option either. For once, the futurist hopes that things could stay as they are: he and Steve, the quiet compound; no heroes, no world in danger, just men.

Steve frowns, and Tony can see his answer forming. _We will always need you._ It is not as flattering as he has once though it to be, so he waves a hand and continues talking before Steve has a chance to.

“I will take the suit with me, of course. I stand by my decision to not let anyone else fly it. But the compound is yours, and you’ll have to talk to Pepper about continued sponsoring, though I’m sure you’ll find there are enough people willing to step up. We can even hash something out about tech support.”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts him, gently but in a way that clearly says he is not going to be refused. “That is not what this is about. I – We’ll miss you. Not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark.”

Laughter escapes Tony’s throat before he can stop it. “That argument has so many holes in it, I won’t even bother to counter it.” He shakes his head when Steve wants to speak. “Even all of that aside, I should have stopped a couple years ago. I’m not getting younger. I’m - I’m just a man. No serum, no enhanced biology, no powers. My body hasn’t been in top form before this and our little stunt didn’t make things better.”

Whenever he breathes deeply, he feels the vibranium inching closer to his heart again. It is not quite the same like drowning, but all his nightmares tend to mix into one these days.

“I might not cling to life as much as a normal person would,” Tony continues, dismissively, “but there are certain ways I do not want to die and one of them is with a metaphorical dagger in my back. Staying would result in just that. It might not even be on purpose, so don’t get angry with me supposedly slandering your team. But if I can’t trust them, this won’t work.”

Steve inhales slowly, biding time as he stares down at his abandoned food, then looks up abruptly. “Could you trust them again?” Judging on his expression, what Steve really wants to ask is, _Could you trust_ me _again?_

Tony can almost taste the urgency behind the question. But even if the past weeks have been somewhat good for his healing, even if seeing Steve does not result in instant panic anymore whenever he makes an unexpected move, Tony’s answer does not change.

“I don’t think I can.”

The change in Steve’s posture is instantaneous: the broad shoulders slump, shadows slink into the blue eyes, even as he scrambles to keep his face neutral. Having decades of experience in the game of hiding away, Tony looks through him without any effort at all.

Pushing his half-eaten plate away, Tony gets to his feet. “You won’t have time to miss me once they’re back.”

“It’s still two weeks,” Steve says quietly before Tony is out of the door. “Think about it, yes?”

“I’m not an Avenger, Steve.” Tony’s voice is full of simple conviction. No drive to prove himself lingering beneath anymore. Even he knows to let go of things that are threatening to tear him apart. “I have no place here.”

He leaves quickly after that, not slowing or listening when Steve calls something. A small part of him – the stupid, reckless stubborn part – wants to try, wants to stay here, stand his ground, and watch them return with his back straight and his head held high, wants to show them that he is not broken. Only that he is.

Most of all, surprisingly, he wants to heal. And how can he do that if he spends his life staring at his failures and have them staring right back?

* * *

This is, of course, how Steve gets to him. It begins with talking of the ‘good old times’, of remembering jokes and stories and more innocent days. Tony looks right through his attempts but lets Steve continue because he is sure he will not let himself be tricked with his eyes wide open. Only that Steve does not run out of steam.

(“Remember those arrows you designed that Clint actually kissed you for?”

“He did _not_ kiss me.”

“Only because you ran away from him. Squealing like a little girl.”)

It is annoying until it becomes bittersweet.

(“Remember the day Bruce had the whole tower in a panic because he decided we were all amateurs at pranking and wanted to show us how it is really done?”

“Natasha _laughed_ when Clint –”

“Shh, don’t say that out loud, or they’ll both come to kill us.”)

It quickly becomes annoying again because Tony finds himself thinking of the many little things he has shoved into some dark corner of his mind so it could not hurt him anymore.

(“Remember that little Italian place –”

“Remember Thor crushing us all at Mario Kart?”

“Remember Bruce’s curry?”

“Remember –”

Remember.)

It will not work out but Tony does not have the heart to tell that to Steve outright, to crush his own little spark of hope.

So when the two weeks are over, Tony is still there, by no means ready but finding his place at Steve’s side easily, where they wait for the plane with the pardoned team to touch down. Tony looks carefully unchanged, they have to notice that. Goatee once again in place, impeccable three-piece-suit, sunglasses – which Steve argues vehemently against.

“I know you need to feel like yourself, but at least let them see your eyes,” he pleads, desperate for this to go right. His loyalties are stretched enough as it is.

“They know too much already,” Tony scoffs, meaning the videos, his innermost thoughts delivered to them freely, “no need to give them any more ammunition.”

“This is not about –”

“You think just because we’re not on that airport anymore and the politicians shook our hands smiling that this war is over?” Tony shakes his head at Steve’s wounded expression. How can one live through what he had and still be this naive? “This is still between all of us.”

“And we’re family.” Steve has gone to so much effort to use that word whenever he possibly can, hoping maybe to reinforce Tony’s feelings, never realizing that he is only reminding him of what is broken.

“Don’t you know that it’s the people we love who can hurt us the most?” Tony mutters that mostly to himself, obviously not really wanting Steve to hear it, maybe not actually conscious of what he is saying.

Steve’s answer thankfully gets drowned out by the roaring of the plane touching down in front of the compound.

“Here goes nothing,” Tony says and straightens. For a moment he looks incredibly uncomfortable before that expression is swallowed by the mask Steve knows so well even if he never recognized it as fake before.

Once the plane is safely on the ground, the ramp opens but for a long moment nothing happens. No one comes out but neither Steve nor Tony step forward either. Then, almost huddled together like they are victims instead of fugitives getting off easy, they step out. Sam leads them but not as confidently as he might have before. Clint has his bow in hand and walks a step in front of Wanda. And Lang trails after them all, an awkwardness to his step that has Tony almost wincing in sympathy were he not so tense. It is terrible enough to be part of this conflict, but to have fallen into this somewhat blindly like Lang has, with all the idealism but none of the insight?

“My, what a sight for sore eyes. Mum and dad decided to postpone the divorce?” Clint snarls within seconds of setting foot on American soil again.

Tony stiffens immediately but when he makes to say something, Clint waves him off.

“Keep your lies, Stark. I’ve had enough of those for two life times.” The hand around his bow is white-knuckled and, strangely, the sight makes Tony relax. Clint has never been one to be nervous in combat. Personal matters, however, have them all running for shelter, so he is reasonably sure that Clint will not shoot him on the spot.

For a long moment, no one else moves. Here he stands, with Steve at his side, facing the newly returned ex-Avengers. Wanda’s glare could be worse and there is no red in sight from where she lingers to the side. Lang still looks like he wants to be anywhere else, eyeing Clint’s tense form with apprehension. In the end it is Sam who makes the first step; confident, reliable Sam, walking towards Steve with a smile and saying, “It’s good to be back,” like they were on vacation and not in exile.

“Yes,” Steve says but looks at Tony, who smirks unconvincingly but nods.

“Your rooms are as you left them,” he addresses the group, nothing of his usual grandeur in his voice. “Lang,” he then calls, causing the other man to flinch at being called out all of a sudden, “yours is next to Wilson’s. FRIDAY can assist you with anything you need.”

Lang looks like he does not know at all what to do with this information – like he had no intention of staying, much less thinking he would be allowed to – but Captain America looks at him in expectation, so he nods hastily and says, “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“We’ve fought each other,” Tony replies with a grin that does not show much amusement, “I’m sure that’s grounds enough for you to call me Tony. At least drop the Mr.”

An uncomfortable silence falls upon the group. No one had expected the fight to be mentioned this early into their reunion, or at all, and they are not sure what to do with it, how to handle being allies again when they barely managed to grasp that they were supposed to be enemies out there on the field.

“Come on, Scott,” Sam exclaims before things can become too awkward, “I’ll show you the way.” He takes on the role of the voice of reason almost easily. Only covert glances at Steve show that he is not as sure about it as he appears. But Steve stays silent and only Tony has an inkling why.

_My talking brought us into this mess_ , he had said, shouldering too much of the guilt himself. _I told them the Accords were wrong and they just followed. We all need to learn how to communicate better._ And apparently he wants to achieve that by leaving the others to do all the talking. Tony thinks they are in for some very awkward silences. Not that he plans to witness many of them. Never before has he been glad for his high workload, allowing him to duck away into his workshop.

Clint and Wanda trail after the two men, staring at Steve like they wait for him to join them, only to share a _look_ when he does not. Thankfully, they do not press the matter right then, but leave Tony and Steve to themselves.

“That could have gone worse,” Steve remarks once they are alone. His voice holds something almost like mischief, which has Tony chuckling quietly.

“As far as half-a-minute-reunions go, yes,” Tony quips, already finding that he can breathe easier again, “I’ve seen all of us down any number of people in less time than that, so I guess we should be very glad indeed that we are all still standing.”

Steve looks like he wants to scold Tony for his comment but is distracted by further movement from the plane. Barnes is getting loaded off at last, and Steve twitches next to Tony like he can barely hold himself back from running off and checking the cryo chamber for damage, to set eyes on his best friend again. But he does not. As much as Tony does not believe this show of – trust? support? – he is glad for it nonetheless.

Still, he inclines his head. “You should go and check they’re handling this properly.” When Steve hesitates still, Tony smirks bitterly. “I’m not going to fall apart just because you move a couple feet away from me.”

Ducking his head almost in apology, Steve nods before walking off, steps too quick to be entirely casual.

Despite his words, Tony feels the loss of Steve’s presence immediately.  He does not want to be standing alone out in the open like this, and wants to go back inside even less. For weeks now, Steve and he had been alone in the compound, interrupted only by the occasional visit of Pepper or Rhodey. He has gotten used to it, the quiet, the peacefulness of not having to save the world three times a week, which provided them with few reasons to argue. It has only been them and lots of room to think and talk and not be anyone but themselves for a while.

Things will change now that the rest of the team is back. Natasha will slink in like she was never gone. Vision might leave Rhodey’s side or they will return together. Life will go on. Tony finds he is almost afraid of it, considering how it turned out last time. Neither he nor Steve is done healing yet, of course not, but there will be no room for weakness now. How can they expect this to work out if they themselves are not ready to move on?

When Steve is done giving orders to where he wants Barnes brought, he still does not follow his friend in but returns to Tony.

“Are you all right?”

Tony shrugs, making a noncommittal sound. He is all right, yes, out here, with no one else in sight.

“Want me to walk you to your workshop?”

The question brings an honest smile to Tony’s face. What Steve means is, _Do you want to me to make sure no one accosts you until you can hide away in your lab and order FRIDAY to lockdown?_ What he means is, _If you need time I’ll make it for you._

As he nods and they make their slow way in, Tony wonders whether he has not made a monumental mistake, letting Steve somehow squeeze in through the cracks he has left in Tony’s composure. Sure, they are getting along at the moment, being so very cautious about every word and every step. But this will not last. It cannot. And as they are now, tearing each other apart will be so much easier than the last time, when they were much warier, much less tuned to the other’s needs.

“I’ll bring you dinner,” Steve says when they reach the workshop, “but maybe you’ll consider having breakfast with us tomorrow.”

Tony wants to refuse outright. Tomorrow is way too soon, sitting in a room with all of them too much. But he sighs. They are making an effort here.

“Remind me in the morning?” he asks, thinking of blaming his reluctance on his usual forgetfulness whenever work is involved, but Steve’s relieved expression tells him that it is already too late for that.

“I’ll pick you up,” Steve promises and turns to leave, knowing by now not to give Tony a chance to talk himself out of it again. He does not look back when he hears Tony ordering the lockdown, but Tony does not need to see him to know that he is smiling.

* * *

Breakfast is as awkward as expected. It does not start too bad, because Steve and Tony are the first ones in the kitchen, so Tony can claim his usual seat – close to the coffee machine but overlooking the whole room and the entrance – while Steve starts cooking. Only when Tony has downed his first cup and starts to function accordingly, does he stand to help. Even that has the taste of routine clinging to it by now, which should be frightening but Tony does not allow himself to think about it as he gets out plates and cutlery – too many of them for him to be entirely comfortable with it – and passes Steve the milk before he has a chance to ask for it. They do not talk – which was hard in the beginning, when Tony refused to, but has turned into something familiar. As someone who has learned that words are weapons, the first line of defence, he has never thought he could come to enjoy silence.

That is of course when Clint and Wanda come in and the air turns taut and ready to shatter into a million sharp-edged pieces. They spot Tony and Clint moves unconsciously in front of Wanda. He has not brought his bow with him, but his hands are curled into fists and his face is scrunched up faintly threatening. The sight has Tony smirking, even though it hurts somewhere inside, because the last time he checked Wanda was the one with the freaky, uncontrolled magic pouring from her fingertips, ready to pull him back into his nightmares. But he does not comment on it, not even when he notices Steve frowning at them.

Instead, he says, “Good morning,” and turns back to picking out herbs for Steve’s omelette. He is distantly aware of the silent conversation happening behind him. Both to save the food and to distract himself, he takes over at the oven, while he can feel Steve trying to put some common decency into the newcomers with nothing but his patented glare.

“Morning,” Clint mutters grudgingly after what seems like an eternity.

Unsurprisingly, Wanda stays silent. They take their seats, obviously not going to help with making breakfast, but Steve seems to count that as a win nonetheless because he turns back around and reclaims his spot. Tony cannot quite read the look in his eyes but no response seems to be required, so he simply busies himself with small tasks so he does not have to sit at the table.

Icy silence reigns until Sam and Lang come in, making somewhat forced small talk about the compound and the wonder that is FRIDAY. Once Steve and Tony have made enough eggs and toast for everyone they sit down themselves and Tony even adds a comment or two. He feels like this does not have to turn into a disaster, even if Wanda is glowering and Clint scoffs in all the wrong places. Then he says something along the lines of, “You wouldn’t believe what FRIDAY can do when she really wants something done.” He smiles because, yes, he is proud of his AI and the way she grows further every day, and he is almost comfortable with the topic. So when Wanda speaks up, it hits him all the more.

“You shouldn’t believe a single word he says.”

As he schools his face into a polite mask, made more for press conferences than breakfast tables, Tony wonders when he has ever lied to her. She has seen inside his head, has seen his fears. Of all the people in this room, she should know best that he has no wish to harm the people he once called family.

While everyone seems to still for the space of a breath, no one wants to call too much attention to that blunder. No one appears willing to pick up the conversation either, so Tony swallows a bite of toast and keeps talking. Everything would be better than letting this silence grow enough to get everyone to _think_ again, yes?

“When we moved into the compound, I let FRIDAY loose without restriction and, boy, it was beautiful –”

“For God’s sake, Stark,” Clint cuts him off, loud enough to startle them all, “would it hurt you to just shut up for once?”

Just like that, Tony does. A couple months ago, he would have shot right back, would have called him Legolas and ordered FRIDAY to turn up some high-frequency tone in his room to make him think his hearing aids were acting up. A couple months ago, neither of them would have meant any harm. Now, though, he meets Scott’s confused glance with a smirk to hide how hard he clenches his teeth, and pushes his plate away. Coming here has been a mistake, which he had known beforehand but ignored in order to show Steve that he could make an effort in setting things right. Well, he considers that a failure.

“I think I’m not hungry anymore,” Tony says and gets up, craving for the peace of his workshop. He even foregoes refilling his coffee cup as he snatches it up.

But before he has made even two steps away from the table, Clint snarls, “Running away again, Stark? Looks like that’s the only thing you’re good at.”

Several people stiffen. Steve, of course, but Sam too, which Tony honestly has not expected. The number of allies he has had has always been small, and Sam might not be on his side as much as he wants to prevent things from getting worse, but he takes what he can get.

“Last time I checked,” Tony says, tone not too sharp but not ready to back down either, “you were the one running from the law.”

“The law was wrong,” Wanda joins in, her expression as ugly as Clint’s. “Like everything you touch.”

Strangely enough, Tony wants to turn to Steve and roll his eyes. Wants to say, _Are we really doing this?_ Wants to say, _I told you so_ , and leave and never come back.

“Tony had nothing to do with the Accords,” Steve cuts in calmly, and Tony tells himself he is not surprised that Steve comes to his aid.

“He signed –” Clint starts, frowning like he cannot believe their leader speaking up either, not for their resident pariah.

“And said they could be amended.” Steve does not let the disbelieving stares this earns him deter him.

“Why are you suddenly on his side?” Suspicion clouds Wanda’s voice like Tony is the one suddenly able to cast mind magic not her. It would all be so very amusing if they were not rallying against him at this very moment.

“Maybe it was wrong to think that there are any sides at all.”

Steve’s voice echoes in the sudden silence of the kitchen as almost everyone glares at each other. This is not how this homecoming was supposed to happen, Tony thinks as he scrambles for something to say, to diffuse the situation, although he is the wrong person for that because he is obviously still the enemy.

“Do you have a copy?” Scott asks, right before the situation can implode, leaving them with another battlefield. He looks uncomfortable, slightly surprised even that he has spoken, since he is well aware that he is not part of this group. He might have fought and bled with one side, but his part in the fallout is negligible.

“A copy of what?” Steve asks, although they all know. He is grateful, though, for the chance to lower his volume, to return to the semblance of a normal breakfast conversation.

“The Accords. Might as well read it and know what the fuss is all about.” The words are surely meant to be flippant, careless, but all they do is show how insane their situation is: going to war over a document most have not even read, much less discussed.

“What a wonderful idea,” Tony says, thinking that he maybe should not. His opinion is not the most popular at the moment, but maybe he has underestimated Lang. Maybe they can get the rest to read the bloody Accords, so they could talk like adults for once. “I’ll send you a copy.”

Steve nods, as if he can look right into Tony’s head. “How about you send it to all of us. Then we can take some time to look through it before we talk.” Considering that particular topic dealt with, he turns back to his food, but it is naturally not that easy.

“What is there to talk about?” Clint snaps, incredulous, staring at Steve like a child unwilling to give up his toys. Actually, they all look at him in wonder.

“How about how we can avoid getting to the point of trying to kill each other again.” Steve looks thoroughly tired. Tired of this argument, of the presence of his friends, of having to justify himself. He meets all their faces, looking stern enough to discourage any more comments, then gets up to his feet, appetite apparently lost.

Tony, still standing somewhat lost to the side, is surprised when Steve nods at him, motioning for them to go together, but falls in step with him easily. It is almost nice, not to be the only one running away, although they should probably call it a strategic withdrawal because, obviously, nothing good will come of arguing over their omelettes.

Clint, of course, cannot leave good enough alone. “What is it with you leaving with Stark all the time? He got something on you?”

Steve whirls around so quickly, Tony’s heart rate spikes before he realizes the Captain’s ire is not directed at him. “Maybe I prefer his company over yours, since you seem unable to let go of your uncalled-for anger.”

“ _Uncalled for_?” Clint stands as well, glaring at the very man he has followed without hesitation. “You were the one calling us to arms because you didn’t agree with Stark and now _we’re_ the problem? How does that –”

“I was wrong,” Steve shouts, effectively cutting off all noise.

Tony stares at him in something like amazement. Although hinted at in previous talks, he has never heard Steve admit to making mistakes that openly, aggressively almost like he is daring anyone to argue. Not that anyone would stand against him while he is in this mode – no one but Tony, but he knows better now too.

“Read the damned Accords,” Steve continues, unaware or not caring for the reactions his outbreak causes, “and we’ll meet tomorrow to talk.”

With that he brushes past Tony but stops in the door, looking back as if to ask where he is, and waits until Tony has caught up so they can leave together. Tony does not know what to think about this.

“You needn’t have done this,” he says quietly, once they are out of earshot. He barely manages not to flinch when Steve glares at him, but the Captain’s expression softens almost immediately.

“I should have done this much sooner,” Steve disagrees.

“Why are you so angry at them?”

“Because that right there, Clint’s little episode?” Steve clicks his tongue impatiently. “That was me; self-righteous and unwilling to listen to anyone but myself. How did you stand that?”

Tony has no answer because it was not this bad until it was, and most of the time Steve had been right. And if anyone likes to hear himself talk, it is Tony, so who is he to judge. Saying that at this moment, however, would not do any good, Tony decides as he glances at the silently seething form next to him. So they do not talk the rest of the way to Tony’s workshop, where they turn without a conscious decision, even though Tony does not need an escort now when it is unlikely that anyone would follow them.

“Thanks,” Tony says when they reach their destination. It seems like something he is supposed to say, although he is not quite sure what has happened.

“Let’s see how tomorrow goes before you thank me.” Face already set into a frown again, Steve manages to turn up his lips into a close facsimile of a smirk. “Want to have dinner with me tonight?” he then asks, coming uncomfortably close to admitting he does not want to meet the others anymore than Tony does.

“I’ll have FRIDAY order in,” Tony answers because it is the only thing he can do, besides wondering how this has become his life.

Steve nods, grateful, then turns around on his heels and storms off. From the looks of it, he will go right to the gym, wrecking a number of punching bags. Tony briefly thinks about calling after him and inviting him in, offering the solitude of the lockdown, but then he laughs humourlessly as he pulls the door close. The workshop is his safe haven. One might think he has learned by now to not give that up on a whim.

* * *

Everyone is there the next day, surprisingly, without another reminder. They look also incredibly uncomfortable, every last one of them. Clint perches on the back of the couch the farthest across the room, eyes narrowed as if he expects all hell to break loose any moment now. Wanda sits close to him, hands clasped lightly in her lap, keeping them in plain sight – a warning, maybe, that she is not defenceless. Scott has taken seat across from them, and the distance might not be intentional but it appears significant nonetheless. Tony is closest to the door but he did sit down, sharing a couch with Steve, who he might not trust completely but who is still the one most probable to stand by him if things start to go wrong again.

Sam has been waiting for all of them already, Accords in his lap and a frown on his face. “So, this isn’t ideal,” he says when everyone is there, coming to the point quickly before things deteriorate into another argument.

Steve snorts loudly, barely amused. Everyone looks up and stares at Tony, having expected _him_ to laugh or at least to counter with something scathing. He does not.

“You said they can be amended?” Sam turns directly to Tony, who appreciates the other man’s calm. Finally someone to have an honest discussion with.

“From the inside, yes,” Tony answers, wondering whether he should make it sound this easy when it is not. “In fact, I am already negotiating with the people in charge. But the more we are, the more united we appear, the better.”

It would naturally be better to keep him as the sole spokesperson, but all his charm and experience with sharks will be for naught if he does not have backing. Why would the board take him seriously if the very people he tries to protect do not either?

“Why should we trust you?” Wanda asks, and Tony almost laughs because they have not managed to go five minutes without dragging his untrustworthy character into it. But then, taking not only him by surprise, she adds, “Either of you.” From the way they all look pointedly from him to Steve, there is no question who they mean.

Steve looks wounded, more so than he does whenever Tony flinches away from him. In a way he has earned that but his team questioning him – he barely knows what to do with that.

“I made mistakes,” he says, his voice not quite even, “but I’m trying to make up for that. Tony and I –”

“I don’t care about Stark,” Wanda interrupts him, but the heat beneath the words is not directed against Tony for once. “You left _us_. Twice. How can we know you won’t run off again whenever you see fit?”

To Steve’s chagrin, Sam nods his agreement. “I understand going after Bucky. I was with you there. But you left us in Wakanda without a word. All we knew was that Tony was supposedly dead and that you told T’Challa at least that you were going but not where.”

“I didn’t run off. I needed to –”

“ _We_ needed you too. We needed to stand together.”

Tony thinks about cutting the discussion off right there, because this has nothing to do with the Accords and everything with how dysfunctional they were even before that. As much as some small part of him is satisfied that they are actually questioning Steve, this is not the right time. Sadly, everyone seems adamant on saying their piece before they can get to the important things.

“We followed you,” Clint speaks up for the first time, reluctantly, watching them from his perch as if he wants nothing more than to slink back into the relative invisibility of his observer’s position. Since his outbreak the day before he has been uncharacteristically quiet. “Against the Accords. Not for Barnes.”

“And this was about the Accords,” Steve says without his usual conviction, knowing maybe that his argument will be countered with ease.

“Ever since Vienna it wasn’t. And that was when you called us.”

“Bucky is innocent.” Mentioning Bucky is one good way to put Steve on the offensive, they should know that by now.

“More than that,” Tony interrupts the argument, having had it so often by now that he can recite it by heart. Also, them turning against Steve now does not help their situation at all. “It’s done now.”

“You’re letting this go?” Clint sounds as incredulous as everyone looks. In the face of so much distrust – they should know each other better – he wants to roll his eyes or tell them to go to hell. With effort, he refrains from doing either.

“Look, we need to decide whether we want to go forth from here.” Tony has made his decision, but they, obviously, are dense enough to think that they can go on as they did. Things have changed and either they change too or they should be looking into another line of work. “Half of the people out there don’t expect us to get up and together again. Some of them might even hope we won’t. The other half has either agendas or is the stupidly romantic type. It’s up to us now. Avengers yes or no.”

It is not that easy, of course. The Avengers had been a team. Out in the field they had been a well-oiled machine, trusting each other to watch their backs. And even in private they had, at times, been a unit. All of that is gone. Even if they were to decide to pick the name up again, they are far from being functional.

“You don’t sound like you want to,” Sam points out, not maliciously, but making way for a whole new set of problems. They would probably rejoice hearing that Tony is going to quit the Avengers, but it would almost certainly make them all the more suspicious of his offer to help.

Tony sighs, not exasperated but tired. “What I want doesn’t matter here. Hasn’t for a while.”

“Boohoo,” Clint cuts in like he has just waited for the opportunity, “the poor billionaire isn’t getting his way.”

“Clint,” Steve snaps. “We’re here to mend things.”

“Wrong,” Tony interrupts, tone clipped. “We’re here to decide whether things are worth mending.”

The room collectively holds its breath. This same situation has been the starting point of countless arguments between the two men; Tony being flippant while Steve insists on talking. None of them are sure whether they want things to go back to as they were, but with these two at each other’s throat it will never happen.

To everyone’s surprise, Tony does not look ready for a fight and Steve does not rise to the bait. Instead, his expression softens as he looks at the genius. Something unspoken passes between them. Then they turn back to the group.

“This is your own decision and no one will hold it against you,” Steve says, returning to the topic at hand like there has not been an interruption.

“The Accords panel might,” Sam argues but forms it like a question. From the way they look they are all unsure how much freedom they really have.

Steve nods, frowning. “Yes, but we will make sure that they will not give you trouble.”

“He means _I_ will,” Tony adds, then waves dismissively like it is no big deal, like he is not already deeply tired of the monstrous task of outplaying the politicians at their own game. Like he does not wonder whether these people are worth it, worth his time and nerve and effort.

“Have _you_ signed?” Scott asks Steve after having listened to all their bickering. It is not his place to interfere with that, but the discussion about the Accords affects his future too.

Steve does not hesitate to nod, does not tell them about his reservations or how his meeting with the panel almost escalated. He does not think about how Tony hid from him for three whole days afterwards, afraid maybe of another argument, of having to take the blame.

“I did,” Steve confirms, refusing to look at Tony because he fears that would result in them grimacing inappropriately. “On the notion that I will not be an active Avenger until amendments have been made.”

_Of course I will come if the world is in danger,_ he had said, throwing the panel member’s worries right back in their face, _but until the Accords stop treating us like a pack of attack dogs to be let loose on your whim, Captain America will take an indefinite leave of absence._

“But that does not need to influence _your_ decision,” Steve adds, like they have not followed him blindly before. Although the earlier discussion shows that those times might just be over. “Think it through. Talk to each other. We will be waiting for your decision.”

“You have three days,” Tony says with a smirk. It is not malicious as much as it is a jibe at the fiasco that was their first introduction to the Accords.

“You have as long as you need,” Steve amends, sternly.

They look at each other silently, both standing their ground but not like they did in the past; not aggressively.

“Not as long as that,” Tony argues calmly. “If we want to have room to manoeuvre. Politicians –”

“All right,” Steve says, just like that. “Take your time but not too much.”

Everyone is watching them, silent, narrow-eyed, causing Tony to smirk wider. He does not fully know himself what has happened. Steve and he are so careful about not arguing. They listen to each other, they _think_ , and even if they do not agree – which is still as often as it has always been, at least on the surface – they talk. Everyone, including themselves, expects them to snap any minute and resort to their usual shouting. But they do not. It is frightening, even for them, so Tony cannot begin to imagine how it must be for everyone else.

Using the moment of everyone being rendered speechless, Tony decides to leave. _Best quit while you’re ahead_ was never something Howard advertised – because as a Stark it is his duty to keep going, to lengthen the distance between him and everyone else – but Tony has lost often enough now to prefer backing out while he still can.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says as he stands and shares another quick look with Steve. No one prevents him from going, but he knows that Steve will come by the workshop later to make him eat.

_That could have been worse_ , they will say and, for one moment, it will feel like the old times, like there is no effort needed to be on the same side. Steve will look at him full of hope, and Tony will offer a smile in return.

It could have been worse, indeed.

* * *

One afternoon, Pepper sits in the common area, no work in sight but a coffee in hand. Her pose is effortlessly elegant, her expression seems carved and is hard enough to have Clint’s instincts raise an alarm inside his mind.

“Agent Barton,” she greets before he can come to a decision whether it would not be smarter to turn around and flee. The Pepper he remembers is always busy, always running after some deadline or planning a dozen steps ahead. Even back when she was still with Stark they would not see her like this, superficially relaxed, waiting patiently for something. It does not bode well for any of them.

“Pepper,” he says, aiming for neutral but falling short when she grimaces briefly at the familiarity.

“I was hoping you would come alone,” she then continues, smiling a bit when he still stands frozen in the doorway.

Clint has been looking for coffee not a confrontation, and had he known that someone, much less Pepper, is waiting for him, he would have never left his room. That might be a cowardly thing to say, but he has yet to meet anyone Pepper could not get running for their lives.

She stands, heels clicking dangerously, but she keeps her cup in her hand. So she is either going to make short work of him or he will end up getting hot coffee thrown into his face.

“I have prepared individual threats for all of you,” Pepper says, her tone utterly polite. “I’m afraid they would lose some of their power if I had to make them in front of a group.”

As fiery as she can be, Clint thinks, this woman has ice built into her spine. Physically, she has nothing on him. He has seen her a blubbering mess, when danger called and Stark had had another close hit. But this – this is Pepper on a battlefield of her choosing.

“We have been cleared,” Clint finds himself saying, but knows it was the wrong thing even before he sees Pepper’s eyes narrow.

“A group of politicians intent on saving face have let Tony talk them into allowing you to return,” Pepper informs him coolly. “No one is quite happy about it, but as I have been regretfully informed, there is a danger looming that will need us to gather all the allies we can get, even disputable ones like you.”

Clint has heard Stark and Steve deep in discussion, has seen them leave to meet with all sorts of people, but as of yet the rest of the Avengers have not been informed about some new villain coming for them. Irritation sparks inside him despite knowing full well that there has been no opportunity for a conversation like that. Whenever they all come across each other, battle lines are drawn anew, words fly like bullets, drawing blood. Even Clint is at the point where he wants it all to stop, only they appear to have reached the point of no return.

He does not move a muscle as Pepper closes the distance between them, coming to a stop mere feet from him. With her heels, she is taller than him and does not hesitate to use that advantage to look down at him with something unreadable in her eyes.

“I don’t know about the war that is coming, but I know about the one that is just past us. Tony might be willing to let this go,” her lips twitch fondly even as her gaze remains hard, “but rest assured that I am not. No enemy can be bad enough that we cannot manage without your arrows.”

“What will you do?” Clint scoffs. “Lock me up?” He does not know where she is going with this and it makes him nervous. Yes, she is a powerful woman, but they do not exactly move in the same social circles.

“I have talked to your wife, Laura,” Pepper smiles sweetly, causing coldness to shoot through his veins, “I have to say I cannot understand what an intelligent woman like her could ever want with someone like you.”

Surely Pepper would not threaten his family, yes? Clint straightens, opens his mouth to speak but she does not give him an opportunity to.

“It might be for different reasons, but she is as done with your bullshit as I am. You have not yet been to the farm since you came back, yes?”

Her careless mention of the farm has him swallowing heavily. How come all of his secrets are suddenly not secret anymore?

“No,” he shakes his head, “Laura didn’t want me to come.” Which had been the hardest thing of all, hearing her tell him to stay away, that she ‘needs time’ and that he could hardly protest that, because it is him who decided to take a vacation in exile, not her.

“Well,” Pepper says, smiling predatorily in a way that has goose bumps rising on his arms, “you can go there now.”

“But?” Clint asks, because there is always a but, especially in their world.

“They aren’t there.”

Such a simply thing but it has Clint sweating, trembling taking over. “Where are they?” he bites out between clenched teeth, far beyond hiding his agitation.

Pepper, however, shows herself unimpressed, as if his anger, his fear, is nothing. “They have moved temporarily into Stark Tower. Tony thought it would be safer for them, since Ross was out for vengeance. Laura was grateful that someone at least thought of her family.”

All Clint can hear is that Stark has his fingers in this mess, and he sees red, ready to run off and punch the smirk off the billionaire’s face. “What did Stark do to them?”

“Tony fixed the problem you left them with and protected them from the repercussions of your actions,” she raises a hand to keep Clint from yelling further, “and now that you have mentioned him, we come to the reason for my visit.” She looks at him, coldly, dangerously. “If you touch Tony again, if you hurt him in any form, I will end you. Your little bow and arrow will not help you if I do, and Laura might even be on my side in this. You have made a lot of enemies, Hawkeye, you don’t want to make me one of them.”

It is ridiculous. She has no power over him, has not even made a concrete threat, but the mere mention of his family has him on guard, terrified even. Through everything in his life, through missions and battles and near-fatal wounds, he has always had something to return to: a home, his family. Laura refusing to talk to him is bad enough, but knowing that she has left for New York, that she is choosing a side and it might not be his – it has him almost crumbling right there. They have always been a team. Then again, that is something they have their problems with lately.

“Be careful who you attack when their back is turned. There might always be a dagger waiting for you too.” Pepper watches him closely for a long moment. Then, apparently satisfied with what she finds, she pats his shoulder. “Now, run back to your little friends. And tell the witch I want a word with her too.”

Completely unaffected by the seething man, she turns her back to him and walks back to the couch, reclaiming her seat and taking a sip of coffee with a contented sigh.

Clint takes care to be gone before she can look up again, anger already bleeding out to be replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion he is not sure he will be able to shake anytime soon.

* * *

“I’m still leaving,” is the first thing Tony says when Steve opens his door for him. He can see the hope fall and crash in the blue eyes, but he does not back down. This decision has been a long time coming and he is not so much a fool that he will postpone it again.

Steve nods uncertainly, then steps to the side to let Tony in. The room is mostly unchanged since Tony was here last. For the past weeks, they have carefully stayed away from each other’s private space, allowing for a place they can hide away in. Coming here is like stepping into the past. Everything is tidy, no clothes lying on the floor, the bed meticulously made; only the desk is scattered with sketches. Tony does not go over to look, but even from the door they seem to be darker, fitting the times.

“You want to talk?” Steve asks when Tony does not move, and exhales in something that might be relief when he receives a curt nod.

He goes and picks up the chair from his desk and places it so it is facing the bed, offering it to Tony with a hesitant motion, before he goes to sit on his mattress, carefully leaving enough space that he will not be able to close the distance between them without getting up again.

_Out of arm’s reach_ , Tony thinks bitterly. He is glad for it but he still regrets that they have become this. Careful not to show any hesitation himself, he claims the chair, leaves his own arms uncrossed. There is no need to be on the defensive, he lies to himself, as if he is not about to openly disagree with Steve.

But for whole minutes they do nothing at all, meeting each other’s gaze every now and then before trailing off, finding something else to stare at – mostly things far beyond the confines of the room.

The thing is, Tony does not quite want this to end. He has found that he likes Steve Rogers, no matter how often he clashes with Captain America. He likes the idea of what they could be without a world to save – only that this will never happen. Both of them think of the future in terms of something they need to shape: Steve wants to make it safer, while Tony wants to improve it.

“Things have become better,” Tony finally says, and it is the truth. Not every encounter between him and the Avengers ends with nearly drawn weapons and a re-enactment of the airport battle anymore. Not every conversation ends with snarled insults and blaming each other for everything that went wrong. They even manage to have somewhat peaceful meals, although all talking is stifled and cautious and a long shot from what they have been. It is all new sorts of painful.

“But they will never be the same again,” Steve finishes his sentence when Tony does not seem able to.

They look at each other and know that they are thinking the same. Maybe it is a good thing. They have never been exactly _whole_. They worked for a while, but all of them are broken in too many ways to simply hope for a happy ending.

“I tried,” Tony says like he has to defend himself still. Steve almost reaches out for him but that is still something they do not do.

“I know,” he says instead, swallowing the urge to apologize. They have both done that so often over the past weeks, it has come to echo after everything they say.

Tony smiles but it slips off quickly, making room for a frown. “People will come in tomorrow to move the workshop.”

Steve is hurt by that, muttering ‘tomorrow’ under his breath and staring at his hands. Time is running out, but Tony cannot allow himself to push this decision farther out. He has never been prone to avoidance. Nothing will change for the better here and he should leave before things can get worse again.

“So you –” Steve trails off, unsure how to ask everything swirling through his head.

“Yes,” Tony answers simply, saying nothing and everything at the same time.

It is so soon, too soon for everything they have not yet said, not yet mended. The future bears planning, they need to prepare for the war to come. And yet Tony is right. They cannot save the world here, where everything, every word is a reminder that they cannot even save themselves.

“Did you know I was never officially made an Avenger?” Tony asks nonchalantly. It does not sting as much anymore. Maybe Fury was even right, after all. “I was never promoted from being a consultant.”

“That’s nonsense.” Steve exclaims but without much fire behind the word. He knows better than most that _should_ does not play much of a role in their life. “You are an Avenger, as much as any of us.”

“Were,” Tony says, smiling a bit sadly. “I already filed my resignation.”

Steve opens his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to ask him to reconsider, but he does not. Instead, his shoulders slump. This piece of news does not come unexpected.

“Where will you go?”

This startles a laugh out of Tony. The whole world is open to him. He has the money, the contacts, houses scattered all over the globe. If anything, he is free now to do what he wants, instead of sitting at the compound, waiting for the next alarm to blare, calling them to battle.

“Back to the tower,” he answers, careful not to let any of these thoughts shine through. He has an inkling that this new Steve – the one he has found to care about him and whom he cares about in return – would not receive it well. “I’ve still got SI to take care of. Pepper will not believe her luck if I actually start showing up for board meetings.”

“You won’t,” Steve says. The humour in his voice is weak, but Tony can appreciate the effort.

“You’re probably right. I’ll lock myself in the workshop and forget the time as I usually do.” Maybe not as obsessively as he does now, though, with the workshop being the only really safe place for him.

“Will you – I mean, are we –” Steve trails off, rubbing his neck, and does not meet Tony’s eyes.

“I will still be there if you need me,” Tony reassures him, easily, not quite knowing where he takes the strength from. But he knows danger is still coming for them. What he has seen beyond the wormhole, Wanda’s nightmarish vision – he will never be able to stand back and let any of that happen. “If you need the suit, I will come.”

Steve stares at him almost uncomprehending for a moment before he nods, hastily. “That is – good to know,” he finishes lamely but hesitates, searching for words. “But will we still see each other?”

_Is this it?_ He does not ask but Tony hears it nonetheless, hears it within himself too. Logically speaking, he should be glad to be done with the Avengers and everything that entails. And he is, most of him at least. Another, smaller part will miss their midnight coffees and talks, will miss the quiet camaraderie of the past weeks. He will miss Steve, the man out of the uniform.

“You know where I live,” he says, smiling, and sees Steve’s lips twitching. “I’m only ever a call away. And –” he shrugs, not having a reason to hide, “I would like to keep talking to you.”

“Yes.” Steve exhales slowly. “We should do that.”

They fall silent after that, making a near-mockery out of this promise to keep in touch. But Tony is glad for it, glad that Steve does not attempt to change his mind. He has tried, truly, to return to a semblance of normalcy here. But even ignoring the glares and comments, he does not want to live somewhere he cannot ever let his guard down.

“I will leave first thing in the morning,” he then says, suddenly not wanting to draw this out further, although he feels bad to see Steve whip up his head like that, fixing him with a wide-eyed stare.

“So there won’t even be a goodbye.” Steve remembers walking away from Tony in Siberia. He wonders whether that is to be their fate: leaving, never looking back.

“I’m here, Steve. This is my goodbye.”

Tony gets to his feet, comes to stand in front of Steve like he has not thought this motion through until the end. What now? he wonders. Shake hands like business partners over a misfired deal? Embrace like brothers in arms at the end of battle?

Tony reaches out slowly, clasps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. This is the first conscious, deliberate contact they have made since Siberia – if he does not count his panic attacks, and he does not because his breathing is even now and his heart does not threaten to combust at their closeness.

“Call,” he says, “or visit. I’ll be there.”

When he leaves the next morning Steve is there to watch him go but everything important is said and their ending is, against all expectations, not absolute. Tony feels light as he ushers his bots up the ramp of his plane, lighter than he has honestly felt since he has first heard of the Avengers. He has tried to make things work, and they _had_ worked for a while, but he knows his place now. He is not too selfish to be a hero, he is not too spoiled to be a team player; but he cannot be happy here.

As the ramp closes, he looks back at Steve and waves. He is alive. He has begun to mend the things he believes worth mending. He does not have anything to prove.

But life, life is waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you leave a comment, you'll make my day.  
> (Also if you find any mistakes or think of a scene that is missing etc, let me know.)
> 
> All the best to you!


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